


And the Cause to Bleed

by Centuryon



Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, Size Difference, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22411012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Centuryon/pseuds/Centuryon
Summary: Kuro is lonely and touch-starved. Genichiro gets in over his head.
Relationships: Genichiro Ashina/Kuro | The Divine Heir, mentions of Kuro | The Divine Heir/Sekiro | Wolf
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33





	And the Cause to Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged this as dubcon because, y'know, Kuro is being held prisoner, but it's probably more consensual than you would expect given the pairing.
> 
> Title from Heartbreaking Bravery by Moonface. The full lines are: "I've got the blood and the cause to bleed, because/I've got the blood but not the bloodlust you need"... which I felt was fitting.

The bright moonlight that lit the way back to the castle is fading, and the sun, as yet unseen, will soon rise over Ashina. Genichiro stands watching the moonbeams withdraw their reflections from the surface of the moat. He has not slept. It is, he thinks, past time he reevaluated his strategy. The Divine Heir nearly escaped tonight, and he cannot, _will not_ allow such a thing to happen again.

There are some things he did right. The moon-view tower is clearly visible from the upper tower; Genichiro was able to see the escape as it occurred and act swiftly to stand in its way. It was no great feat to overpower a man whose swordsmanship and very will to fight had degraded so far, but he is proud of his swift victory nonetheless. Kuro had lacked the time to slip away in the chaos of battle, and the shinobi, if he had been a threat in the first place, was either dead or significantly disabled. 

His decision to keep Kuro locked away by himself, however, he now questions. Genichiro thought the isolation might wear him down over time, but Kuro’s resolve stood firm. He sees now that it was a mistake to leave Kuro on his own for so long: it only strengthened his view of Genichiro as an enemy. When the shinobi came for him, he welcomed him with open arms, eager to escape. That night in the field, he looked to him for protection—and he looked on Genichiro with fear in his eyes. 

He would not be a good general if he could not see when a change in strategy was needed, and he would not be Genichiro Ashina if he let a rare second chance slip through his fingers. 

This time, he has granted Kuro his own quarters in the castle, close enough that Genichiro can visit whenever he wishes. He sets guards outside, of course, but allows him what privacy he safely can. He sees that all his needs are met, though Kuro has so far demanded little. One of his men asks, once, if it is desirable to keep a prisoner so comfortable. But Kuro is not a prisoner—or rather, he need not be.

In the beginning—when his men had first captured Kuro, when he first comprehended what was in his grasp—it was like a dream. The Dragon’s Heritage had consumed his thoughts since it became known to him, despite the disapproval of his grandfather and his master. It still feels sometimes, in his darker moments, as if all his training and all his powers are but a pale imitation of the divine. To have the dragon’s true power here, in the flesh, in the form of a young boy whose will was sure to be easy to bend… it was enough to make him feel, at last, that the world had turned in his favor. 

As time wears on and Kuro’s resolve never wavers, the longing in him turns bitter. His waking life feels dreamlike no longer; asleep, he is haunted by what he cannot achieve. He dreams of sinking his teeth into Kuro’s throat, hot blood spilling freely into his mouth, into his body, transforming his mortal flesh into the unbreakable weapon Ashina needs. He dreams that Kuro is a dragon, huge and white like the great serpents, curled around Genichiro, squeezing him tight in his coils until it is as if their bodies are one. He wakes hot, sweating, sticky.

As for Kuro’s dreams, his guards report to him that the boy often says his shinobi’s name in his sleep. _Wolf_. What was so appealing about the dog-like devotion of such a man? What would cause the boy to dream so frequently of his servant? Was it merely childish devotion to his protector? Why, then, did he not extend the same gratitude to Genichiro, now that he was in his care? 

It could only be because Genichiro had been a jailor to him rather than a sympathetic figure. That approach, used on someone who could not be forced and was difficult to persuade, had nearly cost Genichiro everything. 

He could not throw it all away again. Intimacy, rather than intimidation, must now be his goal.

There was another lesson the escape attempt made clear: he cannot afford to waste time. He may have only just recovered Kuro, but it is surely best to begin approaching him as soon as possible.

Genichiro nods to his guards outside the room, and they step aside to let him enter. Kuro is standing next to the window, gazing out to the mountains. He turns as Genichiro enters.

It has always been difficult to read Kuro’s emotions. There is a stiffness to the way he holds his body that tells Genichiro he is not exactly welcome, but there is little hint of weakness. He knows Kuro must be tired, and likely angry with him, but he can find no suggestion of it in his face.

“Lord Kuro,” he greets him. The boy says nothing. “I hope you are comfortable here.”

A pause follows. Finally, Kuro replies, simply, firmly: “Yes.”

He inclines his head—“Good.”—and tries to hide his pleasure. “Do you wish to bathe?” 

Kuro looks surprised. Has he been so neglectful? The thought makes him sure he is on the right course. Kindness, surely, is what the Divine Heir desires now. A child, bereft of his parents and his guardian, would want companionship. Comfort. 

“… I would like that. Thank you.”

Genichiro nods in reply. “Then you will join me tonight.”

He catches the flicker of unease on Kuro’s face and turns before he can say anything more—and to hide the way his heart beats fast and hard in his chest. 

Kuro, he has learned, has an uncanny ability to notice such things.

He has a tub drawn for them, large enough for Genichiro to sit comfortably. It has been some time since he bathed properly. It is an indulgence he has had little time for—but tonight is about Kuro, not his own pleasure.

There is certainly tension between them, though as usual Kuro hides his feelings well, and Genichiro’s anticipation is so strong he can notice little else. He has resolved to ask nothing of him, tonight. He will be kind; he will put the boy at ease. He tries to calm the eagerness to prove himself. Once again, he breathes deep to slow his hammering pulse: Kuro will catch on, surely, if every time Genichiro approaches him it is with the air of a hunter.

Yet the fact of being in such close proximity to what he desires overwhelms him. He has always felt this way around Kuro: over-eager, flustered, and far too direct in his intent. It is infinitely worse with no clothing between them. Kuro’s physical presence is somehow both amplified and diminished; he looks smaller and younger without his fine clothes, but it is also clear how little the clothes and title mean, when his body itself is what makes him a lord. Most men, stripped of their trappings, are reduced for it. Men of high birth are no different in body from men like Genichiro—Isshin had told him as much, when he was a child. These days, most men are smaller and weaker than Genichiro, and he pays them little mind. But Kuro, in his nakedness, has revealed his strength rather than shed it. Genichiro’s eyes are drawn to him, the way his eyes were drawn to Isshin in his boyhood—only he had wanted to become like his grandfather, wanted his skill and his assurance, had studied his form with the intent to learn—and with Kuro he simply wants. Wants what he is, what he alone has the power to give him. 

Kuro glances, uneasily, at his face. Genichiro realizes he has been staring. He gestures towards the tub, waits for Kuro to settle inside. Takes the opportunity to keep watching him. 

When he enters the water it is a relief. The physical pleasure takes some of the tension from his body, and for a moment he simply closes his eyes, letting the heat seep into his muscles. When he opens them again, Kuro is staring at him.

He blushes when Genichiro meets his gaze, but does not look away. “Lord Genichiro,” he says, “May I ask… what happened to your arms?”

Of course. The boy has not seen him unclothed before. 

“Lightning has such effects on the body,” he tells him, “when one is first learning to wield it.” The fact that Isshin has no such marks he omits, and a small flicker of the old bitterness rises in him at the thought—but no, he has let go of that resentment. He had to. Ashina needs someone who will protect her at any cost; the burns are proof that he is worthy of that honor. All the skill in the world is useless if it is not employed when the time comes. 

What most men lack is not skill, he has found, but courage—courage to suffer pain, courage to inflict it. Courage to see what must be done, and to do it no matter the price.

Kuro’s eyes are wide. “ _Lightning,_ ” he repeats. “I’ve heard stories of men trying to channel it… but it is dangerous to wield the powers of the gods.” 

He is still looking at Genichiro’s arm, stretched out along the edge of the tub. Genichiro recognizes sadness in his eyes, and the anger that this incites in him—to be pitied for his sacrifices, for his very strength!—briefly threatens to overtake him, before he realizes that Kuro’s pity might not be to his disadvantage. If he regrets the pain Genichiro has suffered, perhaps that will make him more inclined to help. He wills his anger away.

“Dangerous, yes,” he agrees. “But sometimes necessary.”

A silence follows in which Kuro seems to hesitate. Genichiro had not wanted the conversation to turn this way, had not wanted to have to fight his anger down tonight. But Kuro had brought them here, and Genichiro could never resist the chance to explain himself. He still wants, more than anything, for Kuro to see things from his point of view. He wants Kuro to see him and accept him, knowing the two of them are Ashina’s last hope.

He will take Kuro’s aid however he can get it, of course. But he would prefer it was given willingly.

“Lord Kuro,” he says, breaking the silence. “I made my choice. A little pain is nothing for the ability to defend my people. I would give much more.”

Kuro’s reply, when it comes, is quiet. “But, if it mars the body so… is that not a sign you are not meant to use it?” 

Genichiro remains calm. He leans forward, though the space between them is small enough already, and doesn’t let his eyes leave Kuro’s. 

“ _Living_ mars the body, Divine Heir. What grown man has no scars? No one can live without encountering the sword, and what is the difference between that sort of scar and this?” He brandishes his arm. 

“It is a sign of strength, a sign of survival, to bear them. Violence is part of life. Those who cannot endure their injuries perish, and all those who survive are marked… At least those of us who can bleed.” He restrains his lips from pulling back into a snarl, but the venom in the words is clear.

To his credit, Kuro doesn’t flinch. “I know it is hard to imagine,” he says earnestly, “And perhaps too much to hope for… but there was a time, before you and I were born, when there was peace.”

“Peace at what cost? War gave Ashina her independence.”

“Yes… but if Ashina is destroyed, what good is that freedom?”

“If Ashina is taken captive, then what good are we? And I don’t believe we will lose, if we fight with all our strength. When my grandfather led us, Ashina fought with the rejuvenating waters flooding her veins and the lightning of heaven at her back. None could match our power. This land is not meant to be just another part of Japan. Ashina alone possesses the waters.” He reaches out, and places his hand—gently, only the slightest touch—on Kuro’s shoulder. “Ashina alone is the home of the dragon.”

Kuro startles, whether from the words or the touch he cannot say. Genichiro can feel him flinch beneath his fingertips. For a second his hand on Kuro’s body looks threatening, obscenely huge next to the boy’s small frame. It is too near his frail neck, so thin Genichiro could encircle it with his fingers.

He starts to pull back his hand. 

Kuro takes hold of it and guides it back to his shoulder. He holds Genichiro’s hand there with one of his own and, after Genichiro makes no attempt to move again, tentatively traces one of the black lines on his forearm with the other. 

“Does it hurt?”

“… No.” he says after swallowing his surprise. It is… difficult to think with Kuro’s hand moving on him. “There is less feeling there than there once was.”

“I’m sorry. But, you can still feel…?” He continues stroking Genichiro’s arm.

“Yes.” He has no idea what Kuro is doing. No one has ever touched him this way. Could it be a sign of affection? Have his efforts paid off? Or is only pity?

Kuro nods. He touches Genichiro’s fingers. Curls his thumb beneath to brush his palm, his wrist. The movement shifts Genichiro’s hand slightly so that it rests against Kuro’s neck. 

He can feel Kuro’s pulse, fluttering just beneath his skin. The realization of exactly who he is touching rushes through him, and this time it is he who twitches. His hand spasms as he tries to both pull away and hold tighter at the same time; he truly doesn’t wish to scare Kuro, but he is seized by such violent desire that he can’t bring himself to stop.

He is touching the Divine Heir. There, beneath his warm skin, runs his blood. Only the thinnest barrier separates it from Genichiro—thin, but impenetrable. 

Before he can stop himself he shifts to cover more of Kuro’s neck, his thumb sliding beneath his jawbone to better feel his pulse. To his astonishment, Kuro closes his eyes and tilts his head back, letting him touch, inviting it. His pulse is hard and fast under Genichiro’s fingers. He presses down slightly, just to feel it better, and Kuro makes a sound, a strange sort of sigh. 

“Divine Heir,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I…”

“It’s all right,” Kuro says. His eyes are still closed. “You can touch me.”

He does. He slides his hand to the back of Kuro’s neck, tracing the bumps of his spine, feeling the shape of his skull. Thumbs along his collarbones and brushes against the smooth expanse of his chest. Dips below the surface of the water to follow his ribs. 

He tries to be gentle, but he wants so much to _feel_ that he presses harder than he means to, grasps possessively where he means to caress. His eyes keep returning to Kuro’s bared throat, and oh, from this close—how did he get so close?—he can actually see his skin twitching where the blood surges beneath. 

Kuro says nothing. They are alone, together, and he lets Genichiro touch him.

He closes the short remaining distance without thinking, lets himself do what he’s dreamt of doing and nuzzles into the warm crook of Kuro’s neck. He smells oddly sweet, like springtime, and Genichiro does not know if it’s a product of his heritage. Truthfully, it no longer seems to matter. He trails his lips up slowly to his pulse point and then pauses, just feeling the movement against the sensitive skin of his lips. Kuro’s breath is loud in his ears. 

He has ceased to think of kindness or persuasion. For no reason but that he wants to, he opens his mouth and licks.

Kuro gasps. He tastes clean, like pure water, with only the slightest hint of salt. Genichiro does it again. He has just enough presence of mind not to bite down, though the temptation is growing stronger. Instead he closes his lips over the spot and sucks, trying to take him in as much as he can. As much as he dares.

Kuro makes another sound, and the hand that is still grasping Genichiro’s arm travels upward and finds the back of his neck. Genichiro realizes through the haze in his mind that Kuro is holding him there, encouraging his touch, and his control slips. He nips gently at the skin in front of him. Kuro’s nails dig into his skin and he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t ask him to stop. 

He is breathless with desire and viscerally aware that he has Kuro alone, naked. He could do anything, _anything_ he wants with him.

All he can think is that he wants to see him more clearly.

“Stand up,” he murmurs against Kuro’s neck, unable to summon more words.

Kuro pulls back and looks at him questioningly. “Lord Ge—”

“I insist,” he manages to say. There is a short pause, and for a second he fears he has broken the moment, but then Kuro’s hand leaves his body and grasps the edge of the tub behind him.

He stands. 

Genichiro’s body reacts faster than his mind; he becomes aware of his own physical arousal a split second before he registers Kuro’s. He’d been nearly oblivious to his own state before, absorbed as he was in his task, his attention resting fully in his lips and tongue—but excitement has been building in the rest of his body as well. He is fully, achingly hard, and the sensation seems to catch up with him all at once. He stares, transfixed, between Kuro’s legs, wondering how he had also failed to notice this—for Kuro is in much the same state. 

His breath stutters. His pulse roars in his ears. He’s hot in a way the bath cannot fully explain as he bends forward to take Kuro’s cock into his mouth.

Afterwards, he will tell himself this too was a means of persuasion, a calculated step in his plan—but in the moment, the strange heat pervading his body forbids all calculation. He is cognizant only of the smallness, the apparent fragility of Kuro’s body, and how it belies the singular power held within. The power he so craves. 

To have that power so near him is intoxicating. To be trusted enough to touch him so intimately, to serve him in the most primitive way possible—the thoughts excite him to an absurd degree. He wants to pleasure him; he wants their bodies to become one.

The weight on his tongue is exquisite. He holds it still in his mouth for too long, savoring the sensation.

Kuro had gasped when Genichiro took him into his mouth. Now, he finds the breath to speak. “Lord Genichiro,” he says unsteadily, “You—you do not have to—”

But he does.

In battle, he is sometimes swept away. The thrill of combat overtakes his body and his mind abandons him. Isshin had been encouraged when Genichiro first described the experience, thinking he had achieved a sort of mastery, a oneness of mind and body that he claimed was essential for a swordsman. As he watched Genichiro fight, however, his grandfather had realized what happened to Genichiro was something different. Rather than the mastery of mind over body, Genichiro experienced a loss of control—“Like an animal, driven by an animal’s anger rather than a man’s intent to kill,” Isshin said—and in that state, which he has never learned to prevent, he is easily defeated by a skilled opponent.

He is in that state now. He hears Kuro’s words, but what he feels with his mouth is so much more real that he pays them little mind. He could not stop himself. He doesn’t think Kuro wants him to, judging by the way his cock twitches against his tongue when he sucks on it gently. It’s so small that there is no strain at all in holding it there. His mouth fits around it perfectly, comfortably. He can stay there as long as he likes, with his nose pressed up against Kuro’s stomach, breathing in his sweet scent. His hands find Kuro’s hips. Slick from the bathwater, there is something almost unbearably sensual about the way his hands glide absently over his wet skin, from narrow waist to smooth thighs.

Keeping his lips wrapped around the base, he draws the tip of his tongue up the length of Kuro’s cock. Kuro’s thighs tremble so violently in response that Genichiro has to tighten his hands around his hips just to prevent him from collapsing. He does it again before Kuro has a chance to recover, and again and again, until the boy is grabbing fistfuls of his hair and moaning unrestrainedly. 

His hands wander; he grabs Kuro’s ass and lifts him up for better access. Even kneeling, he has to bend significantly to get his cock in his mouth. The thought occurs to him that were their positions reversed, Kuro would not need to bend at all, and a fresh burst of arousal rushes through him at the thought of that mouth on him. He wants more, wants to touch him everywhere, in every way. 

Finally his mouth slides off his cock, and he rubs his face against it, just feeling, wanting to worship his flesh. At last he kisses the tip before letting his mouth wander down and taking his balls, small and warm, into his mouth. Kuro’s helpless noises spur him on as he continues inexorably down, licking the water from his skin. 

He pushes Kuro’s thighs apart. He’s now propped somewhat awkwardly on the edge of his tub, and he moves to place his legs over Genichiro’s shoulders, his small feet braced against the curve of his back.

When Genichiro licks at his hole, he feels those feet curl and dig into his skin. If the boy were stronger he would have pulled Genichiro closer to him; as it is, Genichiro has to move closer himself. He licks again, firmer this time, and is rewarded with another gasp. Once Kuro is wet and glistening under his mouth, he pushes the tip of his tongue inside. It’s good. It’s disarmingly good, how small and tight and soft he is. Genichiro had never been so taken with a partner’s size before, nor thought someone so young would appeal to him, but Kuro is so different from anyone he has desired before. He wants his power, yes, but Genichiro has to admit now that his desire has grown beyond his control. Raw, animal lust is what has taken hold of him, whatever he had thought in the beginning. 

He craves Kuro’s cock in his mouth again, already missing that heavy feeling on his tongue and the tender softness of the skin there. Replacing his tongue with his finger, he draws back for a moment to look up at Kuro’s face. His eyes are closed, but as Genichiro continues to circle his entrance, they flutter open and look down at him with such intensity that Genichiro can feel his cock twitch against his thigh. Experimentally, he presses his finger in, just a bit—and Kuro’s eyes widen and his breath stutters. He withdraws slowly, and then pushes back in again, deeper than before. To Genichiro’s delight, Kuro pushes his hips down to meet him and moans as the motion pushes him even deeper inside. Has he ever done this before? Has the shinobi touched him this way? He thinks not, judging by how overwhelmed the boy seems.

The sight of his hole stretched open—only slightly, but Genichiro is so large compared to Kuro that even one fingertip must be an intense feeling—is nearly too much to take in. He wants to continue looking, but he wants even more urgently to take his cock back into his mouth. The tight sensation around his finger will have to be enough, for now. 

Kuro bucks shamelessly into Genichiro’s mouth when he gives in to the urge. One of his hands return to Genichiro’s hair, and oh yes, that’s what he wants, for Kuro to just use his mouth. His hold is gentle, but it keeps Genichiro’s mouth there while Kuro rolls his hips against both his hand and his tongue. They are inside each other simultaneously. The Divine Heir is willingly taking him in and filling him, giving Genichiro his body. 

It doesn’t last long after that. It can’t. 

He hears Kuro whisper the shinobi’s name, as if from a distance. It doesn’t matter, because immediately he feels Kuro’s hand tighten in his hair and his cock pulse in his mouth, and then he tastes, he _tastes him_. It occurs to him to wonder—and later he will think it was on his mind all along—if Kuro’s power truly resides only in his blood, or if—and then he loses all conscious thought. 

He swallows greedily, mindlessly around Kuro’s cock, drinking him down. His own release is almost an afterthought, consumed as he is; trancelike he grips his own cock, strokes it once. Soils the water with his seed. 

And then it’s over. 

Reluctant to remove his mouth, he stays until Kuro pushes him away, small body twitching through the aftershocks of their coupling. He presses his face to Kuro’s thigh, eyes closed: not wanting to move on from his ecstasy, not wanting to know that it meant nothing.

Kuro’s hand is still in his hair. After a while his breathing slows, and his grip loosens.

The heat has begun to leave his body, but his mind still feels blank. He had resolved not to ask, he knows, but the night has gone so differently from how he planned, and he is weak, vulnerable before Kuro in his post-orgasmic exhaustion. He presses his lips to Kuro’s thigh. Here, too, he can feel his pulse. 

“ _Please,_ ” he says, eyes still squeezed shut. After all that has passed between them, there is nothing else left to say.

He has no way of knowing how long the silence lasts. The water is cold. His legs ache.

“I can’t do that,” Kuro says, gently. “I’m sorry, Lord Genichiro. It’s for your sake. I… I sometimes regret…”

Regret what? Genichiro opens his eyes at last and looks up at Kuro. The anger, cold at first, renders him numb enough to face him.

Kuro’s eyes are shining. And Genichiro knows, suddenly, without having to ask, what Kuro is speaking of. He has just said the name. _The shinobi. Of course._ The scars on that man’s back and chest, suggesting a wound impossible to survive, the strange pale mark on his face… It doesn’t surprise him. Perhaps he has always suspected. 

Kuro’s leg is so smooth, so thin. Genichiro’s teeth are so near that faint rhythm’s source. Kuro cannot bleed, but that does not mean he can’t be hurt…

“You should leave,” he tells Kuro evenly. “Now.” Before his rage goes from cold to hot, before he does something he will regret. If he hasn’t done that already.

Kuro understands. He dresses quickly and leaves, still damp from the bath, without another word. And then Genichiro is alone, the taste of Kuro still in his mouth, feeling less clean than he was at the beginning.


End file.
